


Courage, My Love

by EverSparrow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Minor Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, My Unit | Byleth Is Doing Their Best, Romance, Seteth is Bad at Feelings, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverSparrow/pseuds/EverSparrow
Summary: Byleth is completely clueless, Seteth is hopelessly in love with her, Flayn decides to use her godly powers to parent-trap the hell out of them, and Claude and Hilda take it upon themselves to be Byleth's wingmen.What could go wrong?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 44
Kudos: 108





	1. In Which They Begin in a Graveyard and End With Tea

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so excited to be writing this story, and I hope you'll enjoy it. After playing the game about four times, Seteth x F! Byleth has been my favorite S-Support I've had so far, maybe second only to Claude. 
> 
> This story will mainly switch between Byleth and Seteth POV, but some chapters will be from the perspective of other characters, like Flayn and Claude. I love FE3H and can't wait to share this with you. Comments are welcome! 
> 
> Cross-posted on FFN under the same name.

The first time Seteth sees her in the graveyard, it's the middle of the night.

The moon has cast the courtyards and corridors of Garreg Mach in a deep silver light, cloaking it in an aura that's halfway between ominous and beautiful, and Seteth can't help but leave his room, something about the night beckoning him outside.

He hasn't slept in ages. He's never really needed to, not since he and Flayn first arrived at Garreg Mach, and he spends most of his nights wandering the halls or reading or trying to keep himself from drowning in his endless sea of memories.

On this particular night, the sky seems lighter than usual, a little less menacing, maybe. Seteth pulls a cloak over his uniform in a weak attempt to keep out the usual evening chill, but it's hopeless. The wind is sharper than usual, biting into his skin, and he hopes that this little stroll won't end in chills the next morning. He wanders aimlessly through the halls, pacing the cathedral, staring into dark windows, practicing his footwork at the training grounds. There's still too much time. There's always too much time.

Somehow, inexplicably, he finds himself descending the steps to the graveyard, wondering if maybe being in a place filled with spirits will make him feel a little less alone. It doesn't work. He sits there, in the middle of all the graves, and dreams of a face that he hasn't seen in centuries. A face that he'll never see again.

"Who's there?"

The words jolt Seteth from his thoughts, and he turns quickly, stumbling to his feet and realizing that he really has no weapon to defend himself against a potential intruder.

"Seteth?" A figure comes into his view, holding a lantern, and it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust back to the darkness after looking straight into the bright light.

"Byleth?" He squints, wondering if he's seeing correctly, and sure enough, there stands the elusive professor, dressed in what looks like a cape, and under that, a lacy white nightgown that looks strange on the body of someone who he knows to be a ruthless killer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep." Byleth steps closer to Seteth, and he can see dark circles under her violet eyes. Her gaze is faraway, trained on something behind Seteth's shoulder, and he turns to follow it. _Sitri Eisner_ , reads the gravestone. _1139-1159_.

"Ah. I see." Seteth steps out of her path, unsure of what to do with himself. He hadn't really put much thought into the fact that Byleth might miss her mother, despite the fact that she'd never known the woman. "Well, I should go, then." He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to read Byleth's expression and failing miserably.

"Oh, you don't have to." Byleth's mouth quirks as if she wants to smile kindly but doesn't, and she walks over to Sitri's grave, staring mournfully at the stone. "I've never seen anyone out here before. Not at this time."

"Neither have I." He folds his arms, watching her. What is she up to?

"I try to come here once a week, but sometimes I forget." To Seteth's surprise, Byleth's tone is full of melancholy, as if this is something she doesn't usually admit. He doesn't know what to do with this information. "Sometimes I forget her."

"I see." Seteth wonders if he should go. He should probably leave her to her thoughts, to mourn, to grieve, to do whatever it is she's planning on doing, but something about her presence halts him. What's _wrong_ with him? He doesn't even like Byleth. Most of the time, he avoids her at all costs, and yet now he wants to pursue some kind of midnight rendezvous? He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

"I'm sorry that I intruded. You were here first." Byleth turns away from the gravestone, and Seteth realizes she hasn't brought flowers or any sort of token at all. She really _is_ strange.

"No, it's fine." Seteth sighs, resigning himself to his fate. "I see no reason why we shouldn't be able to coexist peacefully."

"Who are you here for?" Byleth folds her arms, staring at him as if she can see right through him. Seteth wonders if she really can.

"No one in particular," Seteth lies. Byleth doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push the subject further.

"I'm sorry that I intruded upon Garreg Mach. I know that seeing me appear without any warning from Lady Rhea must have been… a shock." Byleth stares at him, unblinking, and Seteth sighs, the words undoubtedly referencing his past behavior.

"I won't hide the fact that I firmly believe you should be fully investigated. You are skilled in war and strategy, that I know, but aside from that? Well, you are, to say the least, a mystery." Seteth folds his arms, wondering if he seems intimidating out here, in the dark of the graveyard. Byleth does not seem threatened. To be honest, she doesn't seem very much of anything at all.

"You don't trust me. I can understand that." Her eyes glitter in the moonlight, a hint of some unrecognizable emotion hiding behind them. "Trust is a hard thing to earn, much less to give freely."

"Indeed," Seteth says. "Forgive me if this is an intrusion, but I can't help but wonder how much you really know about yourself."

"You want an honest answer?" This time, something like a slight smile crosses Byleth's face, and the sight of it is so jarring that Seteth has to keep himself from frowning.

"Yes," he says, nodding firmly.

"In that case, not much." Byleth's sort of half-smile deepens slightly. "My father is Jeralt. I was a mercenary. And now, I live here."

"Do you not even know your own age?" Seteth doesn't even try to hide his shock. To raise a child this way is unthinkable. How has Byleth lived in the dark for so long?

"I do not." This time, her smile disappears, replaced with something more somber. "You must think me a liar."

"No," he says, and it's true. He would be able to tell had she lied. No, Byleth Eisner is just as confused about herself as he is. "I think that your past has been deeply shrouded in shadow. To both of us."

Byleth doesn't respond for a moment and merely stares at him calculatingly. Finally, she sighs, turning back to Sitri's grave and bowing her head slightly, before turning back around and walking softly over to the stairway.

"Goodnight, Seteth. I hope that sleep finds you." Byleth turns just as she is about to leave the graveyard and gives him a slight nod. Seteth stands there, frozen. She truly _is_ a mystery.

"Goodnight, Miss Eisner," is all he can say, and before he can move Byleth turns and disappears into the darkness, and Seteth is once again alone in the graveyard of Garreg Mach, his thoughts filled with a pair of mysterious violet eyes.

* * *

The next morning is charged with buzz and chatter as the students begin to flood the monastery, and Seteth retreats to his office as soon as he can, the chill of the previous night having cursed him with a nasty cold that keeps making him sneeze uncontrollably.

"Oh, Father, what is wrong?"

He has only twenty minutes to himself before Flayn comes barging in, throwing the door open as if she owns the place. Seteth stiffens at the affectionate name, and he quickly gets up from his desk to shut the door, checking the corridor to make sure no one has heard Flayn's declaration.

"What have I told you, Flayn? It's not safe to say such things." Seteth sighs, putting a hand to his forehead, and then promptly sneezes.

"Forgive me, _brother_ ," Flayn says, giggling, and Seteth gives her a look. "Oh, don't worry, there was nobody listening! I know how to protect myself, you know. I'm in the Professor's class, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Seteth says. "You are being careful like I've told you, yes?" Against his will, he sneezes again, and this time, Flayn's joyful expression shifts to one of concern.

"What is wrong? You weren't wandering around the monastery last night, were you?" Flayn sighs at Seteth's silence, shaking her head as if _she's_ the parent. "I've told you, Father, you must try to sleep! It does no good to be out in the cold, and now you've gone and gotten sick!"

"Do not worry for me, Flayn, I will be perfectly fine." Seteth turns away from his daughter and back to his paperwork, wondering for the fiftieth time why Garreg Mach seems to be completely devoid of coffee. "Now, don't you have a class to attend?"

"You are behind on the times, Father. The Professor is ill, haven't you heard? She's called off all lessons for the day, and we are to train independently." Flayn skips over to Seteth's desk and picks up a little wooden carving of a fish off its surface absent-mindedly, twirling it around in between her fingers.

"What do you mean?" Seteth looks up from his paper. Byleth, ill, the same exact time as himself? He sends quick prayer up to the Goddess that no one comes to any unfortunate conclusions from this prospect.

"She has a cold and a horrible headache. I went to visit her this morning!" Flayn smiles knowingly at Seteth. "Do you think she likes to wander out at night, too?"

"That's none of my business." Seteth stands and ushers Flayn to the door, practically pushing her out into the hallway. "Well, you'd best be getting to your training. See you for lunch, shall I?"

"Maybe you should drop by the professor's later, _brother!_ The two of you can commiserate over your shared illness!" Before Seteth can say anything, Flayn grins and skips off down the hallway, humming a tune under her breath.

"That girl will be the death of me," he mutters, and he's just sat back down when he's overtaken by a coughing fit. How fitting.

* * *

Seteth's cold only worsens as the day goes on, and soon, he's retreated to his room with an old, leather-bound book, his head throbbing and a dull sort of aching chill sending shudders through his body.

Flayn tries to bring him soup, and even Lady Rhea comes by with ethereal words of concern, but Seteth waves them away, turning back to his book and his paperwork and looking as normal as he possibly can. After they leave, however, he throws an old, worn-out blanket over his shoulders. He wasn't aware Saints could even _get_ sick.

Finally, as the day draws to a close and afternoon begins to fade into evening, Seteth gets up and abandons his book and his blankets. He walks down the hall into his office and heats an old silver kettle that he's set up in the corner, watching the metal shine in the lantern-light. His head feels like it's been plunged underwater, and he curses himself for taking so long in that frigid graveyard last night.

He's not sure what possesses him to do so, but instead of pouring one cup of Ginger Tea, he pours two, thin swirls of smoke rising from the two china teacups. _Goodnight, Seteth. I hope that sleep finds you._ Her words still ring in his head, her cool voice unwavering, like a single held note, and he finds himself picking up the teacups with a gentleness that he finds unnerving.

By now, all the students are immersed in the last hours of their training, and the familiar sounds of chatter and sparring fill the air as Seteth walks through the grounds, trying to maintain an air of importance as best he can. This is just a friendly visit, he tells himself, trying to clear his mind. Why shouldn't he bring the Professor some tea as a gesture of good-will, after all she's done for Flayn? It has _nothing_ to do with their conversation the night before. Why would it?

Byleth's door is shut when he reaches it, and he's tempted to just walk away and pretend he never even thought of coming here at all. _No, Seteth. Stop being a coward. This is what anyone would do, if they had an- an acquaintance who was sick._ Tentatively, he knocks once, twice, and waits for a response.

"Hello?" The door opens just a crack and two violet eyes peek outside. "Oh, Seteth. Come in." Gingerly, Byleth opens the door all the way and Seteth steps inside, feeling too big for the small space and _severely_ out of place. Byleth pulls a wooden chair from the corner of the room and sits down on the edge of her bed, gesturing to the empty seat. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you." Seteth takes a seat and awkwardly holds out one of the teacups, wondering what proper gift-giving etiquette is. "I- I made Ginger tea. For your cold. I'm feeling rather under the weather myself as it is, and I thought that, perhaps, you might like some."

"That's very thoughtful." Byleth reaches out and takes the cup, sipping it gingerly. She's dressed in her usual teaching attire, but her hair is loose and long, and she's wrapped a red throw over her shoulders. The whole situation feels oddly personal, and Seteth is sure that he must look awful. "It seems the night wind got to us."

"Indeed." Seteth takes a sip of his own cup of tea, letting the warm liquid calm his nerves. "This illness has truly prevented me from doing anything useful with my day."

"I know what you mean. I hate not being able to teach," Byleth says, glancing out one of the windows behind Seteth, "but I'm sure my students are doing fine without me. Flayn came to visit me this morning, actually. It was very sweet of her."

"Well, she's certainly very fond of you," Seteth says, and it's true. Both he and Flayn owe Byleth, whether he likes it or not. "I suppose it's a very busy time of year for you and your students, what with the White Heron Cup and the Annual Ball approaching at the end of the month."

"Yes, that's true," Byleth muses. "To be honest, I don't have much experience with balls, but the students seem very excited."

"Flayn has been talking of nothing else. She has always loved to dance." Seteth laughs slightly, remembering a little green-eyed girl twirling around the beach and getting sand in her hair. "But I feel that I must apologize for my behavior last night. It is true that the archbishop places her trust in you, and for that, you must have _some_ worth."

At this, Byleth suddenly puts a hand over her mouth and stifles a sort of laugh, her eyes lighting up. Seteth just stares at her blankly, until he runs over his last sentence and realizes how incredibly rude he sounds.

"Forgive me, Professor, I did not mean- That came out much… differently than I had intended." Seteth looks at the floor, wondering when in the world it was that he became so inept at conversation.

"You don't need to apologize," Byleth says, smiling slightly. "I'm not easily offended. Growing up with mercenaries made sure of that. Jeralt used to say the thicker your skin, the harder it is for a blade to pierce it." The words are such a rare snippet of Byleth's cloudy past that it shakes something in Seteth, and all of a sudden, he feels a tremor of something that he hasn't felt in what feels like a hundred years.

"I- Well, I hope you feel better," Seteth says hurriedly, rising to his feet, and Byleth stares at him questioningly. "I have- enjoyed this visit."

"Thank you for the tea," Byleth says, following him to the door, and Seteth can tell she's confused, but he has to get _out_ of here, he has to breathe, so he quickly gives her a small wave and darts outside, closing the door behind him and most likely shutting it in Byleth's face.

He stands there for a moment, taking several deep breaths, before he turns and starts walking furiously back to his office, not even caring that he's left behind one of his teacups in Byleth's room.

"You _idiot_ ," Seteth hisses, wanting to punch himself in the face. What is _wrong_ with him? Has he lost all sense of dignity and decorum? To think that that mercenary, that _stranger_ , had more sense of etiquette than he did makes him feel even sicker than he already is.

He doesn't like Byleth. He can't trust her. So why did talking to her feel so comforting, so- so much like _home?_

Seteth hasn't let anyone into his life since- well, for a long time. He is _not_ going to start now, and certainly not with this mysterious mercenary who threatens everything he knows to be true.


	2. In Which Hilda and Claude Draw Some Drastic Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth finally returns to her teaching position, unknowing that Claude and Hilda have been conspiring while she's been away, and with the promise of the upcoming Garreg Mach Ball, the whole monastery can talk of nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who's supported this story so far - it means so much! I hope you all are doing well and enjoy this next chapter! It's also from Byleth's POV which I am very excited about!
> 
> I present to you Garreg Mach's resident matchmakers: Claude von Riegan and Hilda Valentine Goneril :)

Byleth hurries into the Golden Deer classroom, one hand clutching a thick Tactics Primer and the other wrapped around a cup of ginger tea, steam pouring out of the delicate porcelain. She's fairly certain it belongs to Seteth, but she's consumed so much tea from it the past few days that she can't really be sure.

"Professor! Is it really you?"

"Oh, Professor, we were so worried!"

"Well, well, well! It seems Teach really has returned to us at last!"

The shouts of her students jolt Byleth from her reverie, and she hurries to her desk, throwing down her books and nearly spilling her tea all over the wood.

"Good morning, everyone." She sheds her cloak and hangs it on the back of her chair, smiling out at the crowd of Golden Deer that surrounds her desk. "I'm sorry for my absence."

"Oh, don't apologize, Professor! It was nice to have a break from all that tiring training." Hilda grins brightly, and Byleth shakes her head. Of course Hilda would enjoy all the time off.

"Someone brought you food, right? Sick people always need food!" Raphael looks absolutely indignant at the fact that Byleth might have been starving away in her room that just so happens to be across from the Dining Hall.

"Yes, I ate, Raphael, but it was only a cold, everyone, there's no need for all this." Byleth tries to settle her students, but she knows well enough that calming down the Golden Deer once they've gotten started is no easy task.

"Relax, everyone. Teach is back, and she's undoubtedly got endless wisdom to share with us. Isn't that right, Teach?" Claude leans against Byleth's desk and winks at her, and she sighs, giving everyone a tight-lipped smile.

"I don't know about endless, but I certainly have picked up a few new battle formations during my time off." At Byleth's words, a collective groan sounds from the Golden Deer, and she has to bite back a laugh. "Or we could have our exam a day early, if you'd prefer that?"

"No, wait, battle formations sound like an excellent idea!" Hilda claps her hands together and shoots her fellow classmates a deathly glare. "We'd _much_ rather learn than have to take a boring old test."

"I second that," Lorenz says, and Byleth raises an eyebrow. Lorenz is usually the first to jump on an opportunity to prove his superiority. "Only because I wish to be fully prepared before I take an examination of my abilities, Professor. A noble _never_ fails, you know."

"Oh, we know," Claude says mockingly, and Lorenz gives him a petulant look.

"Well, everyone, if we're done with this little... _whatever_ this is, I'd like to start the lesson. Please take your seats." Byleth watches the students walk reluctantly back to their desks, chattering excitedly amongst themselves, and wonders how exactly it was that she ended up as a teacher. "Absolutely not, Claude! You're not sitting next to Hilda again. We all remember how well that went _last_ time."

The lesson passes quickly, and she only has to wake up one student: a slumbering Rafael, who claims that he was so worried about her that he completely forgot to sleep. The sad part is that she thinks he's probably telling the truth.

Finally, she puts down her chalk and sighs, looking out at the sea of glassy eyes in front of her. "You're free to go, everyone. I'll see you tomorrow for your exam. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

The class rises in a swell of color and chatter and exits the room, abandoning books and ink bottles across the desktops. Byleth returns to her desk and buries herself in paperwork, not bothering to watch the students leave. She should get lunch, she realizes, but she has so much work to catch up on, so many lessons to plan-

"Professor?" Byleth looks up from her papers to see Hilda in front of her desk, rocking back and forth on her heels. Claude stands at her side, and the two of them wear identical grins that make her more than a little uncomfortable.

"Yes?" She looks from Claude to Hilda and Hilda to Claude, and suddenly, the two of them break out in laughter, looking at each other as if everything is just one big joke. "What is it?"

"We have some… _business_ to discuss with you, Teach. Let us take you to lunch." Claude winks at her, running a hand through his tousled hair, and Hilda nods emphatically.

"And by taking me to lunch, I assume you mean the Dining Hall?" Byleth sighs, downing the rest of her ginger tea, which is now cold, in one gulp. She might as well accompany them, even if it may very well be one big scheme. It's better to eat with someone else than to eat alone, isn't it? "Fine, but I have work to do, so we'd better go now."

By the time they arrive at the Dining Hall, it's already full of students and faculty and knights alike, eating and chatting loudly amongst themselves. Claude and Hilda steer her over to a table in the corner after they get their trays, the two of them exchanging mysterious whispers and nodding conspiratorially.

"What is this about?" Byleth asks tiredly once they're seated, and Claude and Hilda exchange a look. Finally, Hilda speaks, her gaze directed on someone over Byleth's shoulder.

"We have an _important_ matter to discuss with you, Professor." Hilda giggles, unable to keep the seriousness in her tone. "Look over your shoulder."

Curious, Byleth glances over her shoulder at the table behind them, hoping for some big revelation, but instead, it's merely Flayn and Seteth who sit there, talking jovially to each other.

"It's just Flayn," she says, turning back to her tablemates, and Claude smacks himself in the forehead.

"And? Who's _next_ to Flayn?" Claude waves his hand as if he's trying to draw out another response from her, and Byleth looks at him blankly, completely and utterly confused.

"Seteth?" Byleth looks back over her shoulder, wondering if Seteth dyed his hair or something of that sort.

"Stop, Professor! Look back over here!" Hilda hisses, and Byleth turns back to them, frowning. "You can't let him see you looking!"

"Why not?" Byleth asks.

"Oh, playing the innocent, are we, Teach?" Claude winks at her again, his tone dripping with suggestiveness. "Well, don't try to hide it from us. We know what's been going on."

" _What's_ been going on?" Byleth shakes her head, completely exasperated. What are these two going on about?

"Claude and I were going for an evening stroll a few days ago, to clear our heads, you know, after all that independent training we'd been doing," Hilda says, and Claude nods sagely. Byleth knows full well that neither of them have done any 'independent training,' but she doesn't interject. "We thought that we'd pay you a visit, so we walked down to your room, and that was when I saw the most shocking sight I've ever laid eyes upon."

"What was it?" By now, Byleth was completely lost. What shocking thing could they have seen?

"None other than the good Seteth, a man of the church, walking out of your room and looking like he'd just had the time of his life!" Claude says the words quietly, but both him and Hilda set off on a bout of laughter that seems to attract the attention of the whole Dining Hall.

Byleth wants to start laughing too, or maybe cry, but instead, she just shakes her head, putting her hands over her eyes. To think that Seteth- That she would-

"Seteth was bringing me _tea_ ," Byleth hisses, and Claude and Hilda stop their laughing to exchange another knowing glance.

"Is that all he brought you?" Hilda asks innocently, her voice wavering on the verge of laughter.

"Hilda! Of course it was." Byleth shoots a glance over her shoulder at the table containing Seteth and Flayn, and she's about to turn back around when Seteth's gaze drifts over to meet hers, and she flushes a deep red before whirling around again. "The two of you are being ridiculous. There's _nothing_ of that sort going on. Seteth doesn't even like me!" she says in a hushed whisper.

"Aw, Professor, you're blushing!" Hilda says, clasping her hands together as if this is the most exciting thing she's seen all day. "I'm _sure_ he likes you, Professor. Don't worry, we can help you!"

"No, that won't be necessary." Byleth shakes her head vehemently. Her and _Seteth?_ The man who, just days ago, said he didn't trust her and stormed out of her room as if he'd been shot? He wouldn't even want to be her friend, let alone her- her _lover._

"Come on, Teach, everyone needs a little bit of romance in their lives!" Claude gives her a disappointed look, and she throws up her hands.

"We have battles to fight, Claude! There's no time for romance, and even if there was, I have no need for love," Byleth lies. It's far from the truth, she knows that, but what else is there to say? War is coming to Fodlan, one way or another. She can taste it in the air. Love has no place in that sort of fray. She prays Claude and Hilda don't keep pestering her, and they manage to hold off for the rest of the meal. She can only hope they don't mention it again.

* * *

Her hopes are dashed on the day before the Annual Ball, when she's speaking with Marianne in the cathedral and, of all people, Claude and Hilda enter at the same time as Seteth and Flayn, the four of them crossing paths right next to Byleth and Marianne in a horrible sort of collision.

"Oh, hello there, Seteth!" Hilda chirps, elbowing Claude, and the two of them don their matching grins once again. " _Lovely_ day, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Seteth says, coughing slightly. "Hello, Hilda. Claude. Marianne. Professor." He says the last word with a strange sort of emphasis that feels slightly menacing to Byleth, and she hopes Claude and Hilda take that as a hint. They don't.

"So, Seteth, will you be attending the upcoming Ball?" Claude asks innocently, and Byleth has to fight to keep herself from blushing. Beside her, Marianne shifts uncomfortably, obviously wanting to leave this disaster of a conversation.

"I do not think-" Seteth begins, but Flayn steps in.

"Of course he will be! My brother used to actually have _fun_ , believe it or not." Flayn winks cheerfully and Seteth looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here, and honestly, Byleth feels exactly the same way.

"I-I am rather busy around this time of year, I'm afraid. In any case, the Annual Ball is mainly for students." Seteth clears his throat and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Oh, that's nonsense! Professor will be going, won't you, Professor?" Hilda raises an eyebrow at Byleth, who wants to run away. Blazes, fighting a _battle_ seems easier than having a conversation with these two.

"I suppose I can't miss it, after all the good things I've been told about it," she says, trying to maintain a calm facade. Seteth looks at her with surprise, and the second their eyes meet, Byleth can feel her face grow hot. What is going _on_ with her?

"Wonderful!" Flayn bounces on her heels excitedly, looking up at her brother. "Well, that settles it. You have to attend now, Brother!"

"We can discuss this later, Flayn." Seteth coughs, surveying the motley crew before him. "Have a nice day, everyone."

"Seteth, wait!" Byleth catches Seteth's elbow just as he's about to turn, and he quickly draws his arm away from her touch as if he's been shocked. Byleth tries not to feel stung by the gesture. "I- Might I have a word?"

"Of course," Seteth says, still staring at her as if she's something to be regarded with extreme caution.

"Why don't we all go to Dining Hall for a treat? Marianne, wouldn't ice cream be _divine_ right now?" Hilda elbows Marianne and gives a not-so-subtle tilt of her head in Seteth's direction, and Marianne looks as though she disapproves, but she doesn't fight Hilda on it. A wise decision, in Byleth's opinion. Hilda is not easily diverted.

"I suppose," Marianne mutters quietly, and Hilda grins, linking her arm through the blue-haired girl's. "Could we- could we have peach sorbet?"

"We can have anything you like!" Hilda grabs Flayn with her other hand and half-guides half-pulls the girls through the front door, Claude trailing behind them after winking suggestively at Byleth.

By the time Byleth turns back to Seteth, he looks completely confused and maybe slightly affronted by the previous encounter. Byleth doesn't blame him. She knows her Deer can be a lot to handle.

"I'm sorry about them," she says cautiously, not wanting to scare Seteth off again like last time. "They're just excited about the Ball, that's all."

"There's no need for apology," Seteth says, shaking his head. "I completely understand."

"You're feeling better, then?" Byleth tries her best to look pleasant, but she can never tell which emotion she's displaying, if any at all. She's never been very good with all that.

"Yes, thank you." Seteth gives her tight-lipped smile, and Byleth can't help but notice how uncomfortable he looks, almost as if he's not in control of himself.

"I'm glad." Byleth sighs, wondering how to approach this next topic. "I just wanted to ask if- if something happened, that day. When you brought me the tea."

"Whyever would that be the case?" Seteth says, and while his tone is nonchalant, Byleth can see something flicker behind his eyes. Like he's nervous.

"You just left so quickly, and- oh! I've just remembered, I still have your teacup," Byleth says.

"Oh. Yes. Well, there's no urgency. You may keep it as long as you like. As for my hasty exit, I must apologize. I was feeling- feeling rather unwell, and I needed some fresh air." Seteth runs a hand through his green hair, the gesture so un-Seteth-like that Byleth smiles, and Seteth's face seems to brighten as she does.

"That's a relief. I was worried it was something I'd done." Byleth laughs slightly and Seteth stiffens.

"No, of course not. You- You were a perfectly excellent host." He gives her a tight smile again, and Byleth isn't sure why the stumbled compliment makes her feel so good.

"By the way, is it true that faculty aren't supposed to attend the Ball? I don't want to break the protocol, and all that." Byleth frowns, wondering if she should stay back. She'd probably just make a fool out of herself anyway.

"No, no, that was just… I haven't danced in a long time. I didn't want to get Flayn's hopes up, you understand." Seteth looks uneasy, and Byleth tries to reassure him with a smile. He's always so tight-laced, so upright. Byleth wonders if Flayn was telling the truth about him once knowing how to have fun.

"I've never been dancing." Byleth nearly snickers at the thought of it, her twirling around a dance floor like some kind of buffoon. "I don't think I'd even know how to start."

"I'm sure your skills are superior to mine," Seteth says, his smile softening slightly. "I've always found sparring rather similar to dance, anyway, and you do quite a lot of that."

"I suppose you have a point." Byleth tries to imagine her hand clasped in another's, placing her feet in a structured order. "To be completely honest, though, I doubt even Manuela's dancing lessons could save me. I'm sure I'll just make a mess of myself. Mercenaries are not exactly… delicate."

"Come now, I'm sure you're far better than you believe. Dancing is not all that difficult, anyway, not when you know how to begin." Seteth steps closer to her, his stern demeanor melting away just slightly, and Byleth feels her heart rate speed up a little against her will. Heart sickness, the night before the Ball? She does _not_ want to spend the 'most exciting night of the year' stuck in Manuela's hospital wing. "You simply take the hand of your partner, relax your wrist, and let them lead."

"Interesting," Byleth says, staring pointedly at Seteth's hand, which is flexing anxiously at his side. Surely it wouldn't be inappropriate for her to take it, not when he is describing how exactly one should do it. It's just a technique, a lesson, really, just like a battle formation. It has to be _shown_ , not told. Tentatively, she reaches out a hand and gently laces her slender fingers through Seteth's, raising their clasped hands up to shoulder level. "Like this?"

"E-Exactly." Seteth's eyes widen and for a moment, Byleth holds her breath, wondering if she's done something wrong. It's like time stops for a second, like her and Seteth are trapped in between a Divine Pulse, and Seteth gently slides his thumb over the back of her hand at an achingly slow pace. _Is this part of the dance?_

Suddenly, Seteth springs backward, brushing his hand off on the shoulder of his uniform as if he's just touched something sharp.

"I-I must be going." His voice comes out in between harsh breaths, and then he mumbles something like "it was nice to see you, Professor," before sprinting out of the cathedral and down the hallway.

Byleth stands alone in the middle of the floor, her skin still tingling from Seteth's touch, raised as if it's holding a phantom hand. Inexplicably, she feels the same way she does after she's killed someone: cold, with a stab of regret, and she wants to run after him but she doesn't. _What in the Goddess's name just happened?_


	3. In Which Seteth Realizes That He Might Possibly Be in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth realizes that Flayn is growing up too fast, finally has that dance, and watches the stars (or tries to, at least. As much as one can when Byleth Eisner is standing next to them).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to all who have supported this story so far! This chapter features the Goddess Tower scene I reeeeeally wanted in the game. I was so upset when I saw that you couldn't attend the ball with Seteth :( This was so fun to write so I hope you enjoy! Sending you all my love :)
> 
> xo Ever

* * *

Finally, the morning of the long-awaited Annual Ball dawns on Garreg Mach monastery, and everything is thrown into a bustling hubbub. Seteth has barely exited his quarters when he's ambushed by Flayn, twirling around in a black dress with a full skirt, the waistline dotted with big golden bows.

"What do you think, Father? I made it all by myself!" Flayn's smile is jubilant, and Seteth can't help but mirror it with one of his own. She looks so- so grown up, and the thought of it sends a stab of sadness through his heart.

"You look quite radiant, Flayn." Seteth holds her hand and lifts it above her head, and Flayn twirls under the arch his arm makes, giggling just as she used to when she was barely five years old. "Although I do hope you will conduct yourself properly at this ball. Perhaps I should attend as your chaperone."

"Absolutely not!" Flayn shrieks, quickly tearing her hand away from Seteth's. "There is no need to worry! I am perfectly capable of handling myself." She folds her arms petulantly, and Seteth sighs. He supposes _one_ night of fun won't hurt anything. Why is it so hard to let Flayn out of his reach?

"I suppose…" Seteth gives her a stern look. "Do behave yourself, won't you? Tell me immediately if anyone starts making unwanted advances. I will _deal_ with them."

"Stop acting like this, Father! I am no longer a child!" Flayn glares at Seteth, but even her darkest stare doesn't contain even an ounce of venom, and Seteth raises an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" He folds his arms, trying to hide his smile, and Flayn nods.

"It is _so_." She gives him one last reprimanding look before turning on her heel and galloping away, the little gold bows of her dress swaying in the drafty corridor. When exactly did she become so grown-up?

* * *

Seteth makes a point to avoid Byleth for the whole day, and he spends much of it in the Ballroom, pointing out the proper places for ribbons and immersing himself in the silly little details of decorating that he has little affinity for.

Lady Rhea hovers at his side all day, asking him why he seems so 'tense', even 'tenser than usual,' and why he keeps glancing over his shoulder like he's waiting for someone. Seteth reassures her that there is absolutely nothing wrong with him. Another lie.

There is, of course, something wrong with him, mainly being the fact that the sensation of Byleth's fingertips brushing against his skin has been playing over and over again in his mind for the past twenty-four hours. It had been agonizing, to pull his hand from her grasp and to take off like a scared animal. To see the _hurt_ in her eyes, like he'd wounded her.

But the worst thing of all was the fact that, more than anything else he'd ever wanted to do in his life, he wanted to dance with Byleth. He wanted to take her in his arms and gently twirl around the dance floor, staring into those endless violet eyes and feeling like maybe, he isn't so totally alone.

"Seteth?"

He is jolted from his thoughts by the very same voice that haunts them, and he quickly turns to see Byleth standing in the doorway. It's late afternoon, he realizes, and only a few stragglers remain to decorate the nearly-finished Hall.

Slowly, he moves to the doorway, glancing behind him as if he has something to hide. Does he?

"Hello, Professor. How are you?" he asks tentatively, but Byleth's expression remains unchanged.

"Well, and yourself?" She asks the question but doesn't wait for a response from him, and charges on. "Listen, Seteth. I want you to be there."

"Excuse me?" Seteth stares at her like she's gone crazy, and she shakes her head as if she's trying to start over.

"I want you to come. To the ball." Byleth takes a deep breath, as if she's summoning some reserve of courage. "I need you to help me- to help me dance."

"I- You need me?" Seteth stutters like some kind of fool, utterly confused. "There will be plenty of students wanting to dance with you, I'm sure. They are all so very fond of you."

"Seteth." Byleth says his name like she's trying to explain something to a very small child. "Will you come? I am obligated to attend, and I think it would help me. To feel less... out of place." She looks down, now, and the gesture makes her look so helpless that something in Seteth's heart clenches.

"I- I suppose I could stop by. For a few minutes." Seteth can't explain why her request seems to fill him up to the brim with happiness, and he's not sure he wants to. Part of him wants to- no, _hopes_ that she feels the same tremors of something that he feels. The other part of him, the terrified part, hopes that she doesn't.

"Thank you." Byleth's face brightens at his words, and she bows her head slightly. "I will see you tonight, then."

"I look forward to it," Seteth says without thinking, and he's about to take it back, but Byleth is already gone, walking away across the field. "I… very much look forward to it."

* * *

He takes far more time than he should preparing his attire for the evening, Seteth knows, but he stands in front of the mirror anyway, running a comb through his hair and making sure his circlet is placed just-so.

Seteth relinquishes his normal church attire in favor of the suit he wears only for special occasions, the one with a sort of gold half-cape, made of thick black fabric accented with gold curls. He hasn't worn it in a while, and it looks strange in the mirror, a garment sewn from black and gold and memories. He'd worn it for another dance, too, long ago. A dance with a different partner.

"Father? I'm going to the ballroom now, if you'd like to- Oh, Father!" Flayn opens the door and freezes as Seteth turns to face her, her face overcome with a broad smile. "You look absolutely wonderful!"

"Thank you, Flayn," Seteth says stiffly, but the compliment makes him happier than he'd care to admit. "We should be off soon. We don't want to be late."

"Oh, you're coming! I knew you would." Flayn grins, and Seteth links his arm through hers, giving her a rare smile.

"I suppose your persuasiveness won out in the end." Seteth and Flayn walk briskly out into the night, a subtle breeze making the ribbons on Flayn's dress flap lightly. Seteth can hear the sounds of the Ball even from here- the clinking of glasses, laughter, a light hum of chatter. He isn't sure why it makes him so nervous.

"Are you alright?" Flayn looks up at him with wide eyes and he gives her a tight smile, trying to reassure her. She doesn't need to worry about his problems.

"Of course, Flayn. Now, go and have fun." Seteth waves his daughter forward and she doesn't even look back at she skips through the archway into the ballroom, looking so much older than he's ever known her to be.

Slowly, Seteth enters the room, flinching slightly at the bright lantern light that bathes the room in a warm glow. The whole room is buzzing with energy, filled to the brim with chattering students and dancing couples. Half of Seteth wants to slip into his normal strictness and start separating people, but he takes a deep breath, his eyes searching the crowd. He alternates: searching the crowd, adjusting his jacket, searching the crowd, fixing his hair. _Where is she?_

He's about to give up and to abandon it all when suddenly, there she is, as if she's been there all along, and his heart flutters faster than he ever thought it could before.

Byleth stands along a wall, watching the dancers whirl around the floor. She holds a clear glass of bubbling champagne in one hand, and with the other, she absent-mindedly twists a silver bracelet on her wrist as if she's waiting for someone. Waiting for him. She wears a midnight blue dress, the hem brushing the tops of her shoes, and when she shifts, he can see there's a slit that ends midway up her thigh. She looks absolutely radiant.

Cautiously, Seteth moves over to her, desperate not to appear too eager. He's only a few feet away when she looks up, her face brightening and sending his heart fluttering again.

"Seteth," Byleth says quietly, giving him the smallest of smiles. "You came."

"Yes," Seteth says, shifting uncomfortably. "You look… wonderful."

"Thank you!" Byleth's smile widens, and suddenly her attention moves to the ballroom, where the band that consists of Manuela belting her heart out and Alois attempting to play the cello has shifted into a new song. "I'm glad you let Flayn come. She seems to be having a wonderful time."

"I do not think I could have stopped her even if I wanted to," Seteth says, and Byleth laughs, her eyes still on the dancers. Seteth remembers her words: _I've never been dancing. I don't think I'd even know how to start._

"Would you… would you care to dance?" Seteth holds out his hand and Byleth stares at it as if it's something from outer space. Goddess, what has he done? She's going to say no, isn't she, and he'll look like some kind of idiot, and everyone will-

"Yes," Byleth breathes, and she gently places her hand on top of his own. "I would love to."

Seteth can't hide his smile, and he guides Byleth onto the dance floor, doing his best to ignore the many pairs of eyes that suddenly turn on the two of them. It's not an exaggeration to say that Byleth is the favorite professor at the Academy.

Gingerly, he raises their hands up to eye level, just as they had the day before, and holding his breath, he places his hand on the back of Byleth's waist, determined not to blush. He's _not_ going to blush.

Byleth slowly puts her hand on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing the crisp fabric, and as Seteth begins to gently turn the two of them around the dance floor, he blushes. Holding her like this, dancing with her… It feels better than he could have imagined.

"I'm really doing it," Byleth says, looking down in wonder at her feet, which are moving in time with his own, and, feeling bolder than he ever has before, Seteth reaches out a hand and tips her chin up to look back into her eyes.

"I find it's better _not_ to look down," he says quickly, putting his hand back on her waist. "But you're doing brilliantly. I can't believe you tried to convince me that you couldn't dance."

"I can't!" Byleth says, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "At least, I couldn't."

Seteth can't take his eyes off of her as they gently spin to the music, the rest of the world blurring and focusing only on Byleth and those endless violet eyes. He no longer hears the sharp whispers of Claude and Hilda, no longer sees Flayn watching them excitedly, no longer notices Sylvain's jealous glower.

"I'm sorry, Byleth. For my interrogative questions and all my harshness. You didn't deserve it." Seteth says the words quietly, but Byleth's expression softens, and she squeezes his hand.

"Of course I did. You're right, Seteth. I am a mystery. But, then, so are you." Byleth raises an eyebrow, and Seteth smiles. She's right, of course. Isn't everyone a mystery in their own right?

"I suppose that you-" Seteth barely knows what he's asking when suddenly, Byleth is swept out of his arms, and he's thrown back into reality, back into the bustle of the ballroom as the band switches to a different song.

It turns out to be Sylvain who's stolen Byleth from him, and he watches helplessly as Byleth gives him an apologetic smile before turning back to the red-haired boy, who grins at her as if she's the bloody sun. Seteth knows the feeling.

He hates the stab of jealousy that pierces his heart as he watches Sylvain's hand on her waist, and he has to remind himself that he _does not care_ and that Byleth is free to do whatever she wishes. Why should it matter to him? It's not like he has any claim on her heart whatsoever.

The ballroom suddenly feels too crowded, too stuffy, and Seteth slips outside into the cool night air, unable to take it any longer. The moonlit grounds are familiar, and he instantly feels better, his head a little clearer, and he begins to walk slowly down a corridor, his dress shoes tapping lightly against the cobblestones.

The darkness brings the memory of that night in the graveyard to the forefront of his mind, and he sighs heavily. There's no use lying to himself, not anymore. Whatever this feeling is, whatever he feels for Byleth- it's real. Seteth stops for a moment and looks up at the stars, wondering if the Goddess is tormenting him with these emotions, with this unrequited love.

That's what it is, isn't it? Seteth might possibly actually probably be in _love_. It hurts his head just to think about. The professor is witty and brave and beautiful, and he is… What is he? A father? She doesn't know that. A Saint? She doesn't know that either.

Seteth doesn't know what possesses him, but it's like his feet move of their own accord, and suddenly, he's ascending the stairs to the Goddess Tower, starlight illuminating his path. For a moment, he thinks he's going to see students up there, but he's alone once he reaches the top, and he stares out through the wide archways, seeing the whole monastery alight beneath him. Music drifts up from the Ball, and he wonders if Byleth's still down there, dancing.

"Seteth?"

He nearly falls off the tower at the voice, and he quickly turns around, clearing his throat. Byleth stands at the top of the stairwell, a frown on her brow. He tries not to think about how beautiful she looks in the moonlight.

"Byleth." Seteth hides his surprise (or at least he tries to) and folds his arms in a weak attempt to regain composure. "I just- needed some fresh air."

"So did I. After Sylvain's fifth marriage proposal, there was only so much more I could take." Byleth moves to stand next to him, the two of them staring at each other in the darkness.

"I have never known anyone as bold as that boy. He tried going after Flayn, once, and I had to chase him off with a lance." Seteth's face is completely serious, but Byleth puts a hand to her mouth to cover her laughter.

"Was that a joke, Seteth?" Byleth raises an eyebrow, and he bites back a smile. "I didn't know you made jokes."

"There is much you don't know about me." Seteth knows the words sound strange, but Byleth doesn't seem to mind. She steps gracefully across the stone, as if she's walking on air. He can't believe someone who can kill so ruthlessly can be so... ethereal.

"I've heard so many rumors about this place." Byleth reaches out and touches a column, her fingers gently grazing the stone.

"What is it the students say? If two people pray for the same thing, the Goddess will grant their wish?" Seteth smiles at the rumor. "I've always found there's some truth to rumors, even the most outlandish ones."

"What would you wish for?" Byleth asks. "If you were going to, that is."

"I- I've never really thought about it." Seteth pauses for a moment, thinking. What _would_ he wish for? Peace? No, he isn't nearly selfless enough for that. A safer world, maybe, for both himself and Flayn? "I suppose no one really has only one desire that governs their heart."

"I agree." Byleth sighs, looking out at the stars. "I suppose I wouldn't know what to wish for either. A brighter future, maybe?"

"A brighter future," Seteth repeats, considering the words. He knows what his brighter future would contain. "I hope- I do not mean to overstep, Professor, but I hope that my future has you in it."

Byleth looks up at him sharply, a smile ghosting her face. Seteth wants to take the words back immediately, but he doesn't.

"So do I." Byleth steps forward, and before he can do anything, she takes his hand in her own. "I hope that I know you for a very long time, Seteth."

"You've done so much for my family. I hope that you know that I am forever indebted to you." Seteth is shaking, and he isn't quite sure why. "So… thank you."

"Does this mean you no longer hate me?" Byleth teases, her eyes shining.

"I could never hate you." Seteth quickly puts a hand over his mouth, realizing what he's just said. "That is- I do hate you. Wait, no! I never have, and I never will. What I mean is I enjoy your company. I don't _overly_ enjoy it, I just-"

"Seteth." Byleth's tone is laughing, and she brushes a finger against the back of his hand. He hadn't even realized she'd still been holding it. "It was a joke."

"Oh." Seteth shuts his mouth. Why does he become so flustered around her? "It was… humorous."

"Thank you for the dance, by the way. I know it couldn't have been easy, guiding me and my terrible footwork across the floor." Byleth grins, and Seteth shakes his head.

"It was my pleasure. I would have danced all night, had we the time or the energy." Seteth wants to smack himself in the forehead. Where is this sappiness coming from? It certainly has been a while since he's tried to compliment someone in this way.

Byleth smiles and turns back to the stars, the little pinpricks of light reflected in her eyes, and Seteth moves beside her, turning to the night sky himself.

He doesn't know how or what or why he's feeling what he's feeling, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't like how it makes him believe in something. How _she_ makes him believe in something. Seteth watches the stars, but they don't capture his attention for long, and he looks down at Byleth.

She looks to be made of starlight herself, her hair and the dress and her little smile and the way her eyes glimmer in the moonlight. They stand that way for half an hour, her and Seteth, and if she notices him staring at her, she doesn't mention it.

Seteth can't take his eyes off of her. He never wants to look at anything else ever again.


	4. In Which Byleth Reckons With What it Means to Be Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garreg Mach's resident matchmakers plus Assistant Matchmaker Flayn execute a masterful scheme, a battle is fought, and Byleth loses someone she isn't sure how to live without.

"Teach. _Teach._ "  


Byleth wakes with a start, her cheek pressed against something rough and papery. Yawning, she sits up, staring down at the textbook she's been using as a pillow, and fumbles around her desk for Seteth's teacup, grimacing at the now frigid temperature of the tea inside.

"Yes, Claude?" She tries to ask the question casually, as if falling asleep at her desk is a normal occurrence for her. "Do you need something?"

"Wild night?" Claude raises an eyebrow and Byleth sighs, dragging a hand across the side of her face. She must look terrible.

"No." Byleth sighs, rubbing her eyes. "And says you. Don't think I didn't see you last night." It was true. Byleth had been leaving the Goddess Tower after, well, everything, and there had stood Claude, kissing a blushing Dimitri in the shadows as if it would be the last kiss he ever had.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Claude says, putting a hand over his heart. "In all seriousness, Teach… both me and His Princliness would prefer it if you… didn't go spreading that around."

"Why's that?" Byleth asks, leaning her chin on her hand. "I won't, of course," she adds quickly.

"Dimitri is… Well, that's a conversation for another time." Claude winks, but it feels half-hearted, and Byleth can't help wondering what's going on. Still, she doesn't press the subject, and adds it to her ever-growing list of Claude's unshared secrets. "The more pressing issue is what _you_ did last night."

"Me?" Byleth scoffs, trying to sound nonchalant. All she'd done was share a wish at the Goddess Tower with a… friend. Was that such a crime? "Well, I doubt my night was more interesting than yours."

"Oh, don't deny it, Teach. I _saw_ you up there, staring at Holy Father Seteth with that seductive gaze." Claude's grin deepens, and he leans his elbows on her desk, batting his eyelashes. "And you tried to tell me you had no _time_ for romance."

"Claude." Byleth says his name reprimandingly. "I wasn't- I don't-" For some reason, she doesn't spit out an excuse, and she shuts her mouth. Romance? The very thought of it is so foreign, so unachievable… She's a cold-blooded killer! What does she know of love?

"I can help, you know. All joking aside." Claude looks at her with his best attempt at seriousness, and Byleth rolls her eyes, brushing away his words.

Still, she can't push away the feeling of Seteth's shoulder beneath her hand, the glint of his emerald eyes in the candlelight, the words that had stuck like a pin in her heart, making her blush every time she remembered them. _I hope that my future has you in it._

Was love the reason for all the blushing? For the butterflies in her stomach? For the way his words bounce around in her mind all day? For the way she wants so desperately to be near him, to be by his side, to learn his secrets and to tell him all of hers?

Byleth has never known love. Maybe that's why it feels so strange to want it so badly.

"What help could _you_ give me?" Byleth says the words teasingly, but a part of her is genuinely curious.

"Oh, come now, Teach, you know I'm your best shot." Claude sighs, shaking his head at her. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but you can't deny that you're a bit… _clueless_ at times."

"Clueless?" Byleth frowns. She isn't clueless. What does that even mean?

"I mean with all this… emotional stuff. You barely even smile yourself!" Claude waves a hand dramatically and Byleth can't decide whether or not to be offended by this bold, albeit truthful, statement. "You don't even see the way he looks at you."

"Who?" Byleth raises an eyebrow. "If you're going to keep talking in riddles, Claude, I'm going to-"

"Oh, for the Goddess's sake." Claude shakes his head. "This is what I'm talking about, Teach! You are in dire need of assistance. Let's go."

"Go where?" Byleth asks, but it's in vain, and before she registers what's happening, Claude has grabbed her elbow and is marching her out of the room and down the corridor, and she realizes she still has Seteth's teacup clenched tightly in her fingers.

* * *

After a bout of aimless walking, Byleth finds herself in the cathedral hidden behind a pillar, Claude at her side, shooting suspicious glances around the side of the stone every few minutes.

"What's going on, Claude? I have work to do," Byleth hisses, and Claude shushes her with a sharp look.

"We need _her_ for this operation." Claude looks around the side of the pillar again and Byleth sighs, frustrated.

"Gods, Claude, if you're going to keep being so secretive, I'm going to-"

"I'm here!" Byleth is interrupted by the high sing-song pitch of Hilda, who suddenly appears at her side and shoves her over so that she too can fit behind the pillar.

"Quiet down, Hil! Subterfuge requires silence!" Claude winces at her echoing tone, and Byleth looks from one of her students to the other.

" _What_ is going on?" she demands loudly, and is met with loud shushes from both of the Deer.

"Claude said he'd convince you to accept our help! Did you convince her, Claude?" Hilda smiles brightly, and Claude waves vaguely.

"Well… Yes. Sort of. But here we are, and here she is, and here- here he is! Get down!" Claude shoves Byleth and Hilda down to the ground and the three of them sit on the stone floor, huddled in a small sort of heap. "Time for phase one."

"Will someone please tell me-" Byleth begins, but Claude silences her with a sharp wave of his hand.

"No time, Teach. No time." Claude turns to Hilda, his tone lowering. "Is Teutates in position?"

"Affirmative," nods Hilda, and Byleth gives up trying to understand. Help? Hiding behind a pillar? Asking if a bloody _fish_ is in position? Whatever this scheme is, Byleth is afraid of it.

"Alright, Teach. This is your moment. There's no better time than now. Seize the day. Live your dreams." Claude gives her an exaggerated thumbs-up and before Byleth can do anything, he's pulled her up to her feet and shoved her out from behind the pillar into the center of the cathedral, leaving her standing in the middle of the floor with not a clue in the world as to what the hell is going on.

"B-Byleth?"

No. This can't be happening. Byleth looks up tentatively and there stands Seteth, looking at her like she's gone crazy. At his side, Flayn waves brightly, her gaze focused on something beyond Byleth's shoulder.

"Hello, Flayn. Seteth." Byleth nods politely, making an internal vow to murder Claude and Hilda when she gets out of this conversation. "I was just- My students, they were-"

"Professor, would you like to go to lunch with us?" Flayn smiles sweetly, and Byleth looks up at Seteth just in time to catch his look of surprise.

"Flayn, I'm sure the Professor has plenty of work to do." Seteth coughs awkwardly, giving Byleth an apologetic smile.

"No, I- I'm free." Byleth keeps her gaze trained on Flayn so as not to accidentally look up at Seteth and lose herself in the brightness of his eyes. "I would enjoy lunch. With you."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'd- _we'd_ love to have you." Seteth smiles tightly and Byleth feels that strange sort of skip in her heartbeat again. Flayn suddenly claps so loudly that it sounds like a crash of thunder, and the sound echoes boldly through the high ceilings. Byleth wonders how on earth a human as small as Flayn could possibly make so loud of a noise. "Flayn? What on earth-"

Suddenly, as if they've just been summoned, Claude and Hilda shoot out from behind the pillar and are at Flayn's side in a flash of yellow and pink before Byleth can even register what's happening.

"Hey, Flayn!" Hilda enunciates the words like she's reading from a script, her tone oddly stilted. "We need your help!"

"There's an emergency at the Training Grounds. Lorenz was sparring and he, uh, set a fire!" Claude waves in the general direction of the Training Grounds, and Hilda elbows him sharply. Byleth may not be good at reading emotions, but she knows when she's being lied to, and she isn't sure whether she should be angry about it.

"A fire? At the Training Grounds?" Seteth's brow furrows, the concern plain on his face. "Well, I think that I should look into this."

"No!" Hilda steps in hurriedly, shaking her head vehemently. "We need _Flayn._ Only Flayn. To- to sing."

"Flayn can't sing." Seteth stares at Hilda like she's gone crazy, and Flayn suddenly steps in front of her brother, holding her small arms out on either side of her to block his path. "And how would singing help in this situation?"

"Stay where you are, Brother! I must save Lorenz through the power of song!" Flayn shouts, and then, before Byleth can blink, Claude and Hilda have whisked Flayn down the aisle and out of the cathedral, the three of them laughing their heads off all the while.

Byleth, to say the least, is utterly and completely embarrassed.

"I'm- I'm so sorry, Seteth, my students tend to... go overboard." Byleth wants to hide her face in her hands, and Seteth looks concernedly out the door.

"I think I should investigate the matter of this fire," he says absent-mindedly, and Byleth can't help herself. The serious look on his face is too much, and she laughs. "Hm? Do you not agree?" Seteth looks down at her sharply, and she puts a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"Seteth, it's not a real fire. Claude and Hilda… well, they seem to think I need help." Byleth grins as Seteth's face relaxes, now more confused than concerned. How much of the Deer's whole 'plan' should she divulge?

"Help with what? I fail to see what you could gain from a fire in the Training Grounds," Seteth asks, and she sighs, shaking her head. Dare she tell him Claude's outlandish claims? Dare she mention the twinge that pulls at her heart every time she looks at him?

"They think I… that I need help with…" She can't do this. She can't bring herself to say it. "With _romance._ "

"Romance?" Something flickers across Seteth's gaze, and he looks down at her intently. Byleth realizes that she's never noticed how short she feels next to his towering form.

"It doesn't matter. It's just another one of their pointless schemes," Byleth says, waving a hand almost manically, and Seteth raises an eyebrow.

"So your students have taken it upon themselves to deal with your… love life? By setting fires?" Seteth smiles slightly, and the sight of it makes Byleth feel hopelessly warm.

"Something like that," she says, suddenly realizing just how hungry she is. "Would you… still like to join me for lunch?"

"Of course!" Seteth says the words too quickly, and he flushes. "That is- yes, I would still like to. If you would also be willing."

"I would," Byleth says, and, a burst of courage overtaking her, she slowly links her arm through his, her fingers gently curling against the fabric of his coat. "Is this… is this alright?"

"Yes," Seteth breathes, and he puts his other hand over hers. Byleth can't help but notice that his fingers are shaking. "To the Dining Hall, then?"

"To the Dining Hall," Byleth repeats, and all they're doing is walking to lunch, a harmless meal, but for some reason, it feels like so much more. Like it's the start of something.

_I would have danced all night._

* * *

On the morning of the Golden Deer's monthly mission, a simple investigation of a mysterious chapel, the sun has disappeared behind a thick layer of clouds, and Byleth wakes early to prepare her students' weapons. They're supposed to prepare their own, she knows that, and they do, but there's something about a person's weapon that feels so incredibly personal. Byleth feels like, maybe, picturing each one of them before they head to battle reminds her just a little of what she's fighting for. _Who_ she's fighting for. Besides, this is just an investigation. They will most likely have no need for weapons.

The Training Grounds are deserted at this early hour, and she slowly sharpens the blade of Lorenz's lance, turning the worn wood in her hand. Lorenz. A noble. Sharp as a whip, with a biting wit that allows him to say what he thinks without holding back.

"Hey, is that you, kid?"

The rough timbre of the voice jolts her from her thoughts, and Byleth looks up to see Jeralt standing in front of her, shaking his head with a knowing grin on his face.

"Should've known I'd find you out here." Jeralt sits down on the bench next to her, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. "Ready?"

"Almost," Byleth says quietly, putting the lance down beside her. "Are you?"

"Ah, come on, do you really have to ask? I'm always ready for a fight." Jeralt laughs, a deep, belly-aching chuckle that brings her thoughts back to a time of late nights in pubs, learning to hold a sword, fighting back-to-back with the Blade Breaker. "How've you been holding up, kid?"

"Good. I've been good," Byleth says, and she has been. "I like it here, Jeralt. I like teaching, and I like… the people."

"I'll bet you do." Jeralt winks at her, and Byleth frowns. "Oh, don't be like that. I saw you, that night, dancing all night like you're one of those haughty nobles."

"Now that's an insult," Byleth says, earning another laugh from Jeralt. "And I was just having a little fun. Fighting isn't _all_ I do, you know."

"Oh, I know." Jeralt grins again. "You have late-night meet-ups in dark towers, too."

"Have you been following me?" Byleth frowns. Of _course_ Jeralt wants to talk about that. It seems everyone in this whole monastery does.

"No, no, nothing like that. Do you like him?" Jeralt's face turns more serious, and Byleth wants to laugh, or maybe cry from embarrassment. This conversation is unlike any other she's had with her father, and it's extremely strange.

"Like who?" Byleth asks, even though she knows the answer.

"Seteth." Byleth starts to speak, but Jeralt interrupts her protestations. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

"He is a perfectly respectable person," Byleth says flatly, and Jeralt raises an eyebrow. "Oh, stop. He's… I don't know what you want me to say. You and I both know what I'm like."

"You'll know, when you know." Jeralt smiles, leaning back with the faraway gaze that Byleth knows means he's thinking about her. About Sitri. "When it's right. I know we're both more comfortable with blades than with flowers, but when I met her, it was… It was different. _I_ was different." Jeralt laughs, and Byleth isn't sure why the words seem to touch her heart. "Look at me, getting all sappy."

"When did the Blade Breaker turn so soft?" Byleth jabs, and Jeralt laughs.

"You're like her in a lot of ways, you know. I know you think you're all edges, like me, but you've got a good heart, kid. Make sure you trust who's hands you put it in." Jeralt smiles at her, a real, genuine smile, and Byleth nods. She's about to say more when suddenly, out of nowhere, Alois appears, covered head-to-toe in armor and looking like he's just run a marathon.

"Captain! Professor! I'm so glad you're here! There are reports of Demonic Beasts around the chapel!" Alois pants in between his words and both Byleth and Jeralt rise to their feet, exchanging a look.

"Demonic Beasts?" The whiplash of switching from talking about love to war sends Byleth's head spinning, and she wills herself to focus. "I'll get my students."

"Where did they come from?" asks Jeralt, and Alois shrugs.

"I'm on my way there now! Will you two be accompanying me?" Alois looks from Byleth to Jeralt like he's somehow doubtful they'll come to their own mission, and Byleth sighs.

"Of course we will. We've both sworn to protect this monastery." Jeralt looks at Byleth. "You sure your students are up for this?"

"They're up for anything," Byleth says, nodding, and with one last look at her father, Byleth turns and leaves the Training Ground, breaking into a run. It seems there _will_ be need for weapons.

* * *

The battle is like any other, the air thick with blood and the clashing of blades and the grunts of the four ravenous beasts that stalk the courtyard, each of them heading for their a cowering student.

The Golden Deer fight with skill, each of them using their respective skills to take down the beasts. Magic flies in all directions, and Byleth can't help but swell with pride as she watches them: Marianne rushing to Hilda's side to surround her with healing magic, Lorenz covering Ignatz as he refills his bow, Lysithea successfully casting a rather difficult spell.

To Byleth's horror, somehow the growling beasts transform into Academy _students_ once defeated, and the whole class freezes after the first one is discovered, staring down at the boy's lifeless form that they have just murdered in cold blood. It's all too much of a mystery, full of far too many unanswered questions to even begin to consider them all, and so she throws herself into the fighting, focusing on taking down each and every beast in her path and trying to push down the nagging reality that they are, in fact, students. Soon, all have transformed back into their human forms, and Byleth and her students stand among the carnage, looking down at their bloody weapons in shock.

"We killed 'em," Raphael says finally, his big voice booming through the battlefield. "We killed 'em all."

"Not all," Byleth says quietly, pointing out the shivering children that were being targeted by the beasts, by their fellow students, and suddenly, something in the corner of her vision makes her turn sharply.

Jeralt is speaking with one of the students, a girl with deep burgundy hair, and Byleth recognizes her immediately as Monica, the student she found when the Deer had rescued Flayn.

The girl is saying something, something Byleth can't hear, and she steps closer, something about the girl's countenance making her entirely uneasy. She walks quicker, the scent of rusty blood choking her breath, and she's almost where when suddenly, inexplicably, something that's only happened in Byleth's worst nightmares knocks the breath from her body, makes her clutch her heart as if it's just been torn out of her chest.

Monica shoves a knife into Jeralt's back and Byleth's father falls to the ground, making a horrible choking sound that makes Byleth's vision turn black with rage.

What happens next is nothing more than a blur.

Divine Pulse. A blade, drawn. A pale man blocking her path. Words of destiny and fate. Rain. And Jeralt, strong, invincible, _good_ Jeralt, lying on the cobblestones with a gaze cold and unseeing.

Byleth is at his side before she even knows it herself, feeling overcome by more emotion then she's ever felt in her life, and her tears mingle with the rain, falling onto her father's lifeless body.

Something has broken inside her, and she holds onto Jeralt's body until Claude drags her away, unable to keep the tears at bay.

_To think the first time I saw you cry… your tears would be for me. It's sad… and yet I'm happy for it. Thank you, kid._

She has known love, Byleth realizes. And now the one person in this world who loved her is gone.

* * *

By the time they return back to Byleth's quarters, she is completely numb and unfeeling. Claude doesn't say a word as he walks her to the door and opens it for her, and when she looks back at him, there are tears shining in his eyes, too.

She doesn't say anything. She shuts the door in his face.

She spends the next day and the day after in her room, tucked into a corner and staring at nothing. She doesn't eat. Doesn't sleep. She just sits there, remembering Jeralt's cold gaze and wondering what happened to his easy smile and joyful laughter.

It's late afternoon when someone finally comes. A sharp knock at the door makes Byleth curl farther into the corner, and she doesn't make a sound, doesn't yell 'come in' or even move in the direction of the door.

It opens, and someone stands in the doorway. She doesn't look up at them.

"Byleth?"

Her mind doesn't work. She can't make out the voice, and she still doesn't raise her gaze. It feels like she's underwater, like she's drowning. _This isn't real. This isn't real._

Footsteps echo across her wooden floor, and she doesn't move. Gently, the floor creaks, and someone kneels in front of her. She doesn't look up.

"Say the word, and I will leave you in peace."

She knows this voice, doesn't she? Yes, she does. Byleth looks up now, her gaze flat. She hasn't cried since she left the body.

Seteth is kneeling before her, his eyes glistening with tears, and she realizes this is the first time she's ever seen him cry.

"Stay." She stares him straight in the eyes, her heart weighed down by every ounce of the thick, choking grief she holds within her. "Please stay."

"Of course," Seteth says, his expression full of a deep sadness Byleth has never seen before. "Whatever you wish, you need only say it."

"Seteth…" Her voice is hoarse, shivering like a broken bird, and she tries to steady herself, taking deep breaths. _It's sad, and yet… I'm happy for it._ "Seteth, he's gone. She- she killed him."

"I know." Seteth's gaze falls to the floor, his head bowed. "Oh, Byleth, I know."

"It was my- it was my fault." Byleth shakes her head, and she cannot keep the tears at bay any longer. They spill from her eyes, traveling down familiar tracks across her cheeks, and before she knows it, her voice is choked by racking sobs that shake her whole body, every whisper of self-control escaping her. "I could have saved him, I could have-"

"You did everything right." Seteth suddenly reaches out and takes Byleth in his arms, enveloping her in his embrace, and Byleth crumples against his chest. "This is _not_ your fault."

"He can't be gone. He can't." Byleth weeps, her tears staining Seteth's jacket, and she buries her face into the fabric. "He was… we had so much more time. I don't know how to _be_ without him."

"I know." Seteth whispers the words against her hair, cradling her in his arms, and Byleth is certain she should stop crying but she isn't sure how and everything inside her feels broken and she doesn't know how one can put themselves back together again. "It is never enough, what we have with those we love. I know what you're feeling, and it is the worst of pain."

"When does it get better?" Byleth can barely see through her tears, and her heart aches. "When can I think of him without feeling like I've been snapped in half?"

"You will never be fully whole." Seteth sighs, and she feels his chest rise and fall with his breath. "There will always be a part of you that feels that ache, but you will find something to hold on to, and that something, that someone, will give you a reason to fight, a reason to remember and a reason to move on."

"Was it Flayn?" Byleth draws in a shuddering breath, frozen in Seteth's arms. "Was she your reason?"

"Yes," Seteth says.

The two of them sit like that for an hour, Byleth held tightly in his embrace, her sobs slowly quieting to silent tears, and Seteth stays with her, holding her as if she's the most important thing in the world. Finally, he speaks, breaking the silence, and she looks up at him through a tear-streaked gaze.

"Whatever you need, whenever you need it… I will be here." Seteth looks at her with a sincerity that pulls at her heart, and she blinks more tears out of her eyes.

"Thank you," Byleth whispers, and she truly means it. "Thank you for all of it."

By the time Seteth finally leaves, the day has bled into night, and Byleth lies in bed, thinking of all that she's lost.

But when she dreams, when she at last falls asleep, she dreams of sparring with her father, young enough to barely even know yet how to walk, laughing as she hit her little wooden sword against his own, and the parts of her that are broken feel a little less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm sorry for this but you knew it was coming! I definitely had to break out the sad songs playlist for this one :( I promise happier times in the future :)
> 
> As always, thank you ever so much for reading and for your lovely comments! I appreciate them more than you know.
> 
> Sending my love!
> 
> xo Ever


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